True Lies
by Zebrastreifen
Summary: Aaron Hotchner had always been a controlled person, but when he woke up at 2:36pm, his head throbbing, the alarm clock lying shattered on the floor among pieces of clothing that were certainly not his own, a totally naked Emily Prentiss lying cuddled against his chest, this was just too much! *RATING CHANGED TO M FOR LANGUAGE IN CHAPTER 2!*
1. Chapter 1

**True lies**

* * *

_**The truth.  
It is a beautiful and terrible thing,  
and must therefore be treated with great caution.**_**  
****J. K. Rowling**

* * *

Aaron Hotchner had always been a controlled person. Controlled, well-prepared and stoic. Every morning at 6am, he was woken up by the alarm clock on his nightstand, got up immediately and started the day with the usual 5-mile-run.

Okay, skipping the jog because of work-related midnight calls was quite common, and of course Hotch had just ignored the alarm clock a couple of times and slept in (which meant getting up at 8am instead - after all, he was a single father of a six-year-old, and Jack was usually up at sunrise, just like his father). So yes, there were occasional deviations from the routine.

But when Hotch woke up at 2:36pm, his head throbbing, the alarm clock lying shattered on the floor among pieces of clothing that were certainly not his own, a totally naked Emily Prentiss (he couldn't help but check ...) lying cuddled against his chest, Aaron Hotchner was far from stoic.

He didn't jump out of the bed screaming or cursing, of course (he was Hotch, after all, hung over and naked or not), but it was safe to say that Hotch, probably one of the most composed human beings on this planet, was hopelessly overtaxed with this situation.

The only positive effect this shock had was that Hotch suddenly felt sober - or at least sober enough to realize if Emily Prentiss woke up clutching her naked superior, she would probably kill him. And despite the temptation to just disappear forever, Hotch knew there had to be an alternative.

Although it was obvious what had happened the night before, Aaron didn't have any memory of what exactly had led to the two of them ending up in his bed. What he did remember was meeting the team in a bar after an extraordinarily hard case. Why hadn't anyone stopped him from drinking? For god's sake: why hadn't anyone stopped him from taking Emily to his place? Had they taken a cab and if yes, where was his car? He sighed loudly, freezing immediately afterwards, afraid he had just woken Emily up - nope, she was still sleeping, snugged to his naked body.

No matter how long he had been dreaming about being so close to her - this was just wrong. She didn't want this, didn't want him. He had to get out of here before she woke up!

Even when numbering among one or two bomb incidents and dealing with all those heavily armed unsub, Hotch had never moved more carefully in his whole life. It took him a few seconds to realize that he had made it out of the bed without waking Emily up, and when he did, he had to stop himself from sighing again.

Okay, so far, so good. Now what next? Clothes, he decided. The briefs he had been wearing the day before were closest to the bed (which made sense, although the logic this followed sent cold shivers up and down his spine). Hotch tried not to be distracted by the image popping up in his mind: Emily tugging down his pants, his briefs... Damn! This had to stop!

He grabbed his underwear and couldn't help but put it on immediately. With his nakedness now being covered, Hotch felt a little more confident that he was not going to be assassinated in the next few minutes. Nevertheless he knew that it was safest to leave the room as quickly as possible.

Carefully, Hotch gathered the rest of his clothes up from the floor, being even sane enough to avoid the cracking plank. On his way to the door, he scanned the ground for things Emily was not supposed to see when she woke up, and... Oh damn! That had clearly been the best decision he had made lately. Well... obviously they had at least been accountable enough to use protection! Slightly blushing, Hotch picked up the used condom and its wrapping and fled his own bedroom.

* * *

Standing there, half-naked, carrying a pile of clothes under one arm and a condom in the other hand, Hotch found that he had never been happier about Jack spending the weekend at Jessica's place than he was now. He didn't even want to imagine what seeing his father like this could do to his son...

* * *

After disposing the most obvious evidence of what had happened the previous night, Hotch started searching for fresh clothes, knowing that it was too dangerous to go back to the bedroom in order to get to the closet.

Emily would wake up sooner or later (he couldn't help but add "naked" and "in my bed" in his mind), but when she did, he certainly didn't want to be standing across from the bed, only dressed in his underwear, searching for clothes. Finally having found his second emergency go bag with several freshly washed and ironed pieces of clothing in it, Hotch stepped into the shower, trying not to think about Emily's naked body...

* * *

About half an hour later, Hotch - now properly dressed (yes, he was wearing a suit and a tie after waking up next to his naked colleague) - was leaning against the kitchen counter, waiting for his coffee to brew and his life to fall apart.


	2. Chapter 2

"FUCKING SHIT!"

It was obvious that Emily was awake now. Hotch sighed. As awful as he himself was feeling right now, he knew that waking up in her superior's bed was far worse for her - especially when naked and lacking any memory the night before - why else would she have cursed like that?. There was no doubt she knew where she was, either, as there were a few framed photos of Hotch and Jack on the nightstand.

* * *

Although he would never admit it (especially not to her!), Hotch had fantasized about Prentiss a lot! In his mind, they had had sex in every imaginable position - hell, even on every imaginable item of furniture! But they had always been sober and consent. He always made sure she wanted it, wanted him, before they slept together. Hotch tried not to think of how ironic it was that he was always being a gentleman in his masturbation fantasies, but apparently an asshole in real life. He felt guilty. Above all, he felt guilty for not having been sober enough to prevent whatever had happened the previous night. But then there was this low voice in his head telling him he only regretted not remembering it. And the kind of guilt this little voice caused was even worse, because Hotch wasn't sure whether the voice was lying after all... Hotch shook his head vigorously, then stopped mid movement. As if headshaking could put the voice to silence! He sighed.

Oh dammit! He didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do, didn't know what to _feel_. When he heard Emily approaching, though, Hotch was prepared. Prepared for being yelled at, prepared for being insulted, even prepared for being attacked. The only thing he was not at all prepared for was seeing Emily Prentiss standing in his kitchen, closer to tears than he had ever witnessed, desperately clinging to the bed sheet covering her naked body. "What happened last night, Hotch?" Emily whispered, her voice scarcely audible; full of defeat and shame. Hell! She couldn't even look at him!

That was when Hotch made a decision. A stupid, impulsive decision. "I don't know what you did, but I slept on the couch this night." The words were out before even realized what he was doing, but the relieved look in her face determined that there was no way back. He couldn't just say "I fooled you. We had sex, but I left and picked the condoms and my clothes off the floor so you wouldn't freak out" now! Hotch sighed, allowing his gaze to wander over her barely-clad, _perfect_ body for one last time. Realizing how indecent the look in his face probably seemed, he playfully added: "So you sleep naked, huh?"

Hotch smirked, well aware that this was the closest to flirting with her that he could ever allow. This smirk was harmless, especially when compared to the alternative of Emily waking up next to him, a used condom lying on the floor among their clothes. Emily would interpret his behavior as one of the rare indicators of him being only a man, after all. Neither the smirk nor the remark would ruin the friendship they had established, and neither of them would destroy _her_.

The whole situation would probably make her feel a little awkward, though, so she'd immediately head back to the bedroom to get dressed. After a few minutes (spent trying to pull herself together), she would return to the kitchen and apologize for what she had implied, and he would apologize for his remark. They'd be sitting in his kitchen drinking coffee and - depending on the look on her face - Hotch might need to reassure her that nothing had happened between the two of them; that Emily must have decided it was too warm to sleep in her clothes and therefore tossed them on the floor before she had fallen asleep in his bed. Eventually, she would believe him - because she trusted him, and because she didn't think he was capable of lying to her about something severe like an alcohol-related one-night stand.

However, _he_ would have to live with the truth, would have to live with the knowledge that he had kissed her, touched her, loved her... and that he had betrayed her. But he knew this was the price for Emily still being able to look at him, still being able to look into the mirror without hating her reflection, without blaming herself for what had actually been the alcohol's fault.

And to him, this seemed like a fair trade.

* * *

**"****I do myself a greater injury in lying than I do him of whom I tell a lie.****"**

**Michel de Montaigne**


End file.
